


let’s screw this one up right

by trite



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Extremely Repressed Pining, M/M, Minor Suralinda Javos/Jessika Pava, Post-Canon, Rescues & Other Shenanigans, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Woke Up Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28994301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trite/pseuds/trite
Summary: Let It Fall: Love in a Post War Galaxy by Suralinda JavosAll is fair in love, post-war.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48
Collections: Hoelidays Gift Exchange 2021





	let’s screw this one up right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/gifts).



> Thanks to A for brainstorming help and massive amounts of handholding. ♥

The day the war ends, in the middle of the celebrations, Jess and Suralinda get engaged. Poe hasn’t seen them agree on something for longer than it takes one of them to come up with a solid counterargument so wedding planning should be fun.

Poe is genuinely happy for them, though. It’s a sign that people are planning for the future, that they have hope peace can last.

Between one drink and the next, Jess and Suralinda decide they want their wedding to be the first wedding in a post-war galaxy. ( _Wouldn’t that make for a great story?_ ) Poe has doubts about the logistics involved in that but they’re excited in a way he hasn’t seen them in some time. It’s contagious and he hopes it reaches everyone around them.

A couple of minutes later they decide they’re leaving to get married in Canto Bight.

“Someone has to stay,” he tells Jess in the command center. He keeps moving between the celebrations outside and their (former) war room, thinking something might go wrong any minute now. Poe doesn’t want to bring the mood down by explaining that’s why he wants to stay behind, though. He’s also massively sleep-deprived and doesn’t feel like he’s functioning at full capacity anyway.

“It doesn’t have to be you. We want you there. Don’t make me get Sura here. She won’t take no for an answer,” Jess says sitting across the room, pointing a finger at him for good measure.

As if magically conjured by Jess’s words (or because she was eavesdropping), Suralinda appears by the door and fixes her gaze on him. “Dameron. Poe. The galaxy will be in one piece and in complete peace in twelve hours when you come back.”

“We have a war criminal in our midst that I’m not comfortable leaving unsupervised.”

“Bring him along,” she says airily.

It may seem reckless and unconcerned but he can see in her the same anxiety he feels. The desire to cling to something, make it tangible and point to it as proof that the inevitable next round will also be worth it.

_I went to war and all I got was this happily ever after._

“Are you really gonna let her write a story about this?” Poe asks Jess on the shuttle on the way to Canto Bight. He feels restless on the co-pilot seat but Jess played the _it’s my wedding day!_ card. Poe doesn’t think it should count if that has only been true for an hour. He, too, could decide to spontaneously get married and proclaim it his wedding day.

“Let her? Have you met anyone who can stop her from doing something when she sets her mind to it?” She says with a smile, looking unbearably fond, not just of Suralinda but maybe of the whole galaxy. “It was my idea anyway. I want her to write about this and I want to be lucky enough to read it. It was her words I first felt in love with, you know?”

“Really? Cause I remember you loudly saying you didn’t have time to read them.”

“I made time. I—” She sighs. “The way she shapes a story. I caught myself thinking one day _I want to be shaped by her words_ and I just knew. I know it might sound self-important but I want that, the once-unreachable story with a happy ending. It was life-changing to me, like the war.”

Poe winces, feeling like a jerk for making her feel like she needs to justify her happiness to him. He knows how her story started, he’s happy she gets to have this now.

She laughs, diffusing the heavy mood in the cockpit. “Who would have thought that one day I would be the hopelessly romantic one out of the two of us? Go chase true love, Poe Dameron,” she says with a playful shove.

Of course they’re not the first couple waiting in line to get married. The place is crowded and loud; booming with people and alcohol. The sound of laughter mixing with bottles clinking together and creditchips being slotted into machines. Everyone is in a celebratory mood.

There are display screens all around the room with neon bright letters advertising anything from hologames tournaments to live musical performances to restaurants promising the best synthmeat in the galaxy.

He looks around for Hux and finds him with Rey near a table of sabaac. They’re not actually sitting at the table, but are intently watching the procedures. He hopes they don’t get kicked out for cheating before the ceremony.

He walks around the large golden fountain in the middle of the room and approaches Jess and Suralinda. He can see all the other couples surrounding them and hear Suralinda talk about the battle they just survived, their plan to have the first wedding in a post-war galaxy, the inspiring story she’ll write about it. Everyone is extremely touched by it and the couple at the beginning of the line end up giving them their place.

 _The promise of peace makes people do crazy things,_ Poe thinks, grabbing another drink from the bar.

He wakes up with a headache, an overwhelming desire to throw up, and someone’s warm weight on his back pressing him into the sheets. He turns his head but whoever his bed partner is (and that’s an uncertainty he hasn’t had in years) they’re lying almost completely on top of him. He closes his eyes against the light coming from the balcony, filtering through the red curtains. It bathes the room in a soft pink glow, giving it an almost romantic feel.

 _Maybe it’s Finn_ , he thinks optimistically as he shifts again. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve platonically shared a bed or a bunk or a pod. Even as he contemplates it, he knows it’s wishful thinking.

Poe pushes the person off of him and hears Hux groan and say, “I think I lost my blade.”

He sighs. At least they’re clothed.

Hux looks terrible but sounds far more coherent than he has any right to, certainly far more coherent than Poe feels.

“I didn’t want to come here. You dragged me here and _married me_ ,” he says sounding almost scandalized, outraged. As if Poe just tortured him in the most creative way possible. Actually, that might elicit some grudging professional respect from him.

Poe groans and covers his face with a pillow. It’s not that he isn’t equally horrified. It’s that if anyone is slumming it here, it’s definitely not Hux.

“So where can we go to get it annulled?” Poe asks the officiant with his most charming smile, once they reach the chapel. The sign by the wall announcing in flashing letters _no annulments or refunds_ doesn’t fill him with confidence.

They walked through the hotel trying to retrace their steps, but the _how_ became less important when each room they entered greeted them with bright, white glowpanels. It only served to exacerbate their piercing headaches. The illumination here in the venue — Black TIE Nuptials — is less aggressive; the light coming like a faint orange glow and the decor using subdued brown and golden tones. It’s not the least classy establishment Poe could have gotten married in.

“As I said, it is not possible for you to get an annulment. There is currently no governmental body, court, or tribunal in place to handle divorces or annulments,” he says for the third (maybe fourth) time.

“But you’re marrying people.” He can hear his words come out a little panicky, but it’s extremely irresponsible of them to do that. He’s not going to examine that statement for hypocrisy. “How can you possibly marry people when there’s no way for them to get a divorce? That can’t be legal.”

“Sir, we explain this before officiating each wedding. It’s not our responsibility if those involved in the ceremony knowingly decide to proceed. We are, after all, marrying adults,” he says pointedly.

“We’ve been married for less than eight hours. How could you have filed the data work when there are no legal institutions in place to handle this?”

“The Records Office in Canto Bight is very efficient and —”

Hux sighs longsufferingly. “Dameron, can’t you just bribe him or threaten him? Shoot him in the hopes it brings out someone more competent, at the very least.”

The officiant stares at Hux horrified and then turns to Poe, “I can see why you don’t want to stay married. I’m truly sorry.”

“Excuse me?” Hux asks, as if he has any right to be offended.

Poe drags Hux away before he does something murderous or before Poe says something like _hey, watch it. That’s my husband you’re talking about_. “Right. Yeah. Thank you for your time.”

One the way back to their room, Poe says, “look, we’ll keep this between us, okay? We won’t tell anyone and as soon as we can, we’ll get an annulment.”

The plan works until Beebee finds the marriage certificate.

Finn finds him in the _Falcon_ where Poe is — not hiding, but is temporarily using as a work station. At least until everyone stops wanting to talk to him about his marriage. It says something about people that they’re more interested in Poe’s romantic life than Finn’s Jedi reveal. Something unfavorable, Poe means.

“Did you intend to marry him or was it— some sort of accident?” Finn asks slowly, squinting at him.

Just as Poe is about to say that _obviously_ he did not intend this, he pauses and instead says, “which one would look worse?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I were your boss, would you respect me less if you found out I married a mass murderer because I was completely drunk or because I’m in love with him? Let’s keep in mind that he defected and helped us to win the war. He saved our lives while risking his, even.”

Finn shakes his head at him from across the dejarik table. “Oh Poe, no.”

“I’m not saying that I married him out of love, but would it be believable?”

“It could be, yes. And I guess from a leadership perspective it might even seem inspiring? But you really don’t have to do this. People respect you, they turn to you for answers.”

That’s what Poe fears. “Yeah, but I’m not Leia. I don’t know how to—”

Finn sighs. “When I said that—”

“No, no, you were right. That doesn’t mean I can’t be better and learn. It doesn’t inspire much confidence if this is the first impression I make, though. It’s Hux so obviously my judgment will be questionable either way, but at least this way I didn’t get so drunk that I don’t remember _marrying someone_. And this way we can keep an eye on him.” Without keeping him as a prisoner which Poe isn’t exactly comfortable doing.

“You don’t have to do this, but I got your back, man. You can do so much better, though.”

“I know.”

Poe goes by Hux’s cell — room, that is. He’s not keeping his husband in a cell — a couple of hours later and ignores his glare to say, “you know, I had a buddy who used to say that the only reason to get a divorce was to remarry.”

“Your ‘buddy’ sounds like an idiot. Is that the kind of person you associate with?” Hux asks from the bed, his back resting against the wall, and his obscenely long legs stretching on the mattress.

There is nowhere for Poe to sit, which does give the room a vaguely (or strong, actually) prison cell vibe. Hux also doesn’t bother making room for him on the bed, so he stays standing. “This was a long time ago, but my point is that in a way he was right. Don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t. We’re not staying married.”

“Well, we kinda have to for the time being. I’m saying that we can make the best of it.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

Poe makes sure to roll his eyes exaggeratedly. Hux wishes Poe wanted to have sex with him. He wouldn’t get it as good anywhere else. Not that he’s going to say that. “You wish,” still slips out.

Hux seems unbothered by his comment, though, instead slowly drumming his fingers against his knees. His gloveless hands moving slowly over the fabric of his pants. “What would this act entail?”

“Living together and pretending we don’t hate each other.” Poe isn’t the best actor; has never excelled at undercover work and has never been into sexy roleplaying but he does have some feelings of goodwill for the guy. He can fake it. If nothing else, he can probably do a better job than Hux.

Hux frowns. “I don’t believe that’s strictly necessary. In my experience, people are likelier to hate one another if they are married. Familiarity, after all, breeds contempt.”

“Loving that glimpse of romance. Are you agreeing, then?”

“It depends. Would you be likelier to secure that pardon for me if I agree?” he asks, uncomfortably intense as usual.

“No—”

“Then you need to work on your negotiating skills.”

“Let me finish. No, this has nothing to with that. I’m not going to dangle your freedom in front of you. I told you I would do it and I will.” If anything, it’ll look worse for Poe to be pulling strings to get his war criminal husband all pardoned up.

Hux nods to himself but Poe has a feeling he doesn’t believe him. “How do you stand to benefit from this? What are you trying to manipulate me into doing?”

“Why would I be trying to manipulate you? Man, you are way too paranoid.”

“It has served me well in the past.” Hux briefly lifts one shoulder, in what could very generously be considered a shrug, if it wasn’t such a stiff and awkward movement. “So what is it? I have a hard time believing there is a shortage of people who would be willing to marry you. Who, in fact, wouldn’t go as far as committing acts of debasement for a chance to do so.”

“Are you—? I think there was a compliment buried in there.”

“There wasn’t. It was a statement of fact. In any case, it’s just a consequence of the heroic image you project coupled with the attractive package it’s presented in.”

Poe squints for a moment, then grins. “Yep, there was definitely a compliment there. Maybe more than one?”

Hux looks away and when he talks, he directs his words to the other side of the room. “You’re intolerable. Stop avoiding the question.”

“I don’t want to be married to you. And if I absolutely had to be married to you, then I would prefer to keep it a secret but it’s too late for either of those things, so I’m working with what I’ve got.” Poe moves closer to the bed until he’s standing in front of Hux. “It’s somewhat better to have people think I wanted to marry you than to have them know it was an accident.”

Hux ponders this for a moment, even squints at Poe, and gives him a calculating once-over. “Very well. Who would know the truth?”

“Finn. Possibly Rey.”

“She would find out regardless. She is a Force user after all.”

“She’s not like that. Neither of them is.”

“How many Force users are you harboring in here?” Hux says, outraged.

“Never mind that. Wanna go to our new quarters?”

The good thing about their new quarters is that at least the bed isn’t made for one. Sure, Poe liked his quarters in the _Tantive IV_ but this bed might actually be the most comfortable thing he’s ever slept on. He likes it so much that he doesn’t mind that Hux is in it, as well.

Right before he falls asleep, he remembers something Hux said the last time they slept together. (The wording is accurate so he’s not taking it back.)

“Why were you talking about a blade when we woke up in Canto Bight?”

“Because I lost it.”

He ignores all the other questions he currently has and focuses on the most pressing one. “Did you find it?”

“No.” It’s the first time Poe has heard actual emotion come through his words. Emotion other than anger, that is. He tells himself that maybe the blade had some sentimental value and that’s why Hux sounds desolate. It’s probably because he no longer has something in his possession to commit murder with, though.

Poe looks at him lying stiff as a board on his back, his long delicate fingers neatly crossed on his stomach, the way the v-neck of his sleep shirt exposes his collarbones. He looks away and wonders where Hux could be hiding other weapons.

They wake up wrapped around each other. Hux is pressed along his side, his fingers clutching Poe’s shirt and his left leg thrown over his thighs. Clinging in a way Poe didn’t expect. Hux isn’t suffocating him by pressing his entire body on top of Poe’s so he counts it as an improvement.

It feels a little too friendly to be this tangled up together, but then again, they are married.

Hux doesn’t talk in his sleep, doesn’t kick, doesn’t snore, doesn’t steal the covers. He even makes up the bed when glaring at Poe fails to accomplish it.

He’s not the worst person Poe has slept next to but he does wake up in the middle of the night to Hux grinding against Poe’s hip in his sleep. It only happens a couple of times so Poe just ignores it. These things happen; he has that effect on people, etcetera.

In any case, Hux always leaves the bed before the sun is out.

Only Finn and Rey know, which is good because he wouldn’t want to lie to them. That said, he doesn’t actually want to lie to everyone else.

“How did this happen?” Kaydel asks him a couple of days later when they’re going over mission reports for the morning briefing.

They’re on First Order clean up duty which is vastly preferable to the diplomacy and bureaucracy involved in building a new and improved galactic government, but involves spending considerable amounts of time working with Hux.

Hux is cooperative and even seems pleased by their success in ridding the galaxy of what he sees as traitors to the cause that ultimately lived only in his speeches. That said, Poe’s reputation really takes a hit every time he opens his mouth to suggest murder and annihilation as the most convenient solution.

Entering the cave they’re still using as a command center, Hux says, “he fell in love. Isn’t that why you people believe a union should come to be?”

Kaydel looks at Poe and shakes her head, as if trying to communicate _you have the absolute worst taste._

If Hux won’t try to play nice then he leaves Poe no choice, really. “How could I not when you decided to switch sides and help us destroy the First Order because you wanted us to finally be together?”

“So this is a romantic story about how I was changed by the love of a good man,” Hux deadpans.

“No, it’s about how you always had the potential to be better and you took that opportunity and did the brave thing. And I’m proud of you for that.” Poe tries to make his words sound as cheery and earnest as possible. Perfectly calibrated to annoy Hux.

Hux clenches his jaw and from behind gritted teeth, says, “well, I am glad you convinced me to come here and gave me a second chance.”

Poe grins. “I don’t regret it. I’m happy you’re here.” Then exaggeratedly says, “love you.”

“Love you too,” Hux says venomously before storming off.

When Hux leaves, Kaydel clears her throat. “Do you want to hear the transmission from General Calrissian?” she asks, looking at Poe like he has lost his mind.

This marriage is doing the opposite of what he intended.

That night, in bed, Hux tells him, “I would ask you not to talk about me betraying my cause—”

“But you did do that,” Poe mumbles into the pillow.

“I did it because the people in charge betrayed our principles. What I thought were our goals, our vision. I didn’t do it for something as inane and empty as love.”

“Love isn’t—”

“I don’t appreciate you trying to pass me off as someone eager to atone for his past actions. There is— nothing to be done about what I’ve done so I wouldn’t bother.”

Poe raises his head and squints at him in the dark. “That’s not true, though. Do you want to make up for the things you’ve done?”

“No, I just want to sleep,” Hux says before turning on his side.

Poe sighs. He doesn’t know why he expects different from Hux.

A couple of days later, Jess and Suralinda return from their honeymoon.

“What have we missed?” asks Jess sitting across from Poe. He has a brief moment of deja vu, remembering the way she asked him to attend her impromptu nuptials in that same place.

“Oh, not much. Just the usual heroics.”

She laughs. “I missed those. We went to Castilon, though, like you recommended. It was great. We raced and—”

“We won all the races,” Suralinda says, coming into the room to drag Jess somewhere else. “And we bet on each other for good luck.”

“You didn’t race each other?” Poe asks.

“No, marriage is all about teamwork,” Jess says as she lets herself be pulled toward the door.

“I cannot believe I had to find out about your marriage from a gossip columnist,” Jess says, the day after she and Sura come back from their honeymoon. They’re not sticking around Ajan Kloss indefinitely, Sura told him the night before, only until they deem First Order clean up to be complete. _It’s time for a new storyline_ , she said jokingly, her blue skin brushing against his as she bumped their shoulders.

Poe steps away from the door and lets her into his — and Hux’s — quarters. “Okay, that doesn’t count when the ‘gossip columnist’ is your _wife_. And does she know you’re calling her that?”

She shrugs and looks around the room as she walks in and says, “where are you keeping him?”

Poe sits down on the couch and motions her to join him. “I’m not keeping him anywhere. He’s his own person.”

She falls back next to him, stretches her legs, and rests her head against the back of the couch before turning and very seriously saying, “you know when I told you to chase true love I didn’t mean ‘so it doesn’t regroup the First Order’s remnants while we’re not watching.’“

He doesn’t relay the conversation to Hux but he does hint at it when they’re having dinner in the mess.

“Even if I wanted to, they wouldn’t take me back. Not only am I a traitor, but I married a Rebel. My reputation is in tatters,” Hux says dramatically, but he sounds less troubled than Poe expected him to.

“Yeah, I know _exactly_ what that feels like,” Poe says, but Hux either doesn’t pick up on it or chooses to ignore his meaning.

“My point is that if I can’t achieve galactic domination, I’ll settle for second best.”

“Which is what?”

“Stopping other people from achieving it. If I can’t have it, no one can.”

“Well, at least your motives are pure.” It does reassure him, though. He can’t trust Hux to do the right thing, but he can always count on him to do the petty thing.

They organize three teams to go on off-world missions to planets they think might still be under First Order occupation or where they think First Order loyalists might be hiding. They keep getting more defectors each day and Finn and Jannah have been working with the stormtroopers that come to them.

The officers are cooperative and willing to volunteer any information they can. It’s been a great help in narrowing the locations down to twelve.

Hux doesn’t trust them.

“I get it. You’re the only true defector, everyone else is faking it,” Poe says as he packs for their short trip ahead. They’ll only be gone for eleven days.

“No, that’s not what I said. I meant I could have used this solidarity to your cause when I was risking my life for you.”

“I know, but this way you get to claim you saved the galaxy. All on your own.” And he often does. Twice as much now that he officially got defector status, accompanied only by a strong suggestion to get counseling, though that might have been as a result of his general, well, _everything_. “That’s gotta count for something, right?” Poe says.

It seems to temporarily appease him because he doesn’t bring up for a full two hours.

The first place on their list is Ceatu.

They go there to investigate an old First Order outpost. The Order operated on such a level of secrecy and paranoia that is difficult for Poe to comprehend at times. Thankfully he has the leading expert in constant paranoia around to explain.

The planet was uninhabited and didn’t have any resources for the Order to exploit, but its remote location meant it served as a sort of safe. The building serving to stash physical flimsiplast copies containing contingency plans in case of defeat; the steps to take, and the places to go to regroup.

The sky is a deep bright shade of blue in a way that almost eclipses the sun completely. The air is pleasant and they are surrounded by tall trees that mostly shelter them from the heat. Sunlight streams weakly from between the branches and flower-covered vines

“This is kinda like a honeymoon, isn’t it?” Poe asks.

“Yes, an abandoned First Order outpost is a terribly romantic destination. I agree with you.”

“It seems like the place you would’ve chosen. You could do some datawork and secret inspections, terrorize some poor officers whose performances were not up to your standards. All that fun stuff you used to do. Maybe order some executions since it was a special occasion, after all.”

“Ordering executions was an everyday occurrence. Not something that would require some sort of special occasion,” he says with an eye roll, so concerned with having the last word that he doesn’t care how horrible those words are.

They run diagnostics on the safe before opening it and confirm it hasn’t been accessed in the past few months.

Hux enters a code on a screen pad, presses his palm against a scanner, and finally leans forward to get a retina scan. When he’s done, he unhesitatingly unlocks the safe and reaches inside. He takes out a black flimsi envelope with a red, sixteen-rayed sun in the front, but doesn’t open it. He absentmindedly traces the symbol with his index finger for a moment that feels longer than it probably is.

Poe itches to take it from his hands, but he wants Hux to hand it over just as badly, so he waits.

An indecipherable emotion crosses Hux’s face before he extends the envelope and looks away.

When Poe takes it, Hux leaves the room altogether.

“I would have never willing chose to endure something as pointless as a honeymoon,” Hux says some time later. No life forms have been detected on their scanners but they’re still exploring their surroundings because a gigantic structure looms in the distance. Its shape is something between a mountain and a castle, and Poe wants to go investigate.

“What?” Poe says, having mostly forgotten about their conversation.

“You were right, though. If I had been forced to pick a destination, I would’ve picked somewhere where I could’ve worked as well. I would’ve been bored otherwise.” Hux is generally difficult and hard to read so it always feels rewarding when Poe manages to, not only do it, but get him to admit he has done it.

“A dream come true, then. You’re welcome.”

“Where would you have gone?”

“Why?” he asks suspiciously. He doesn’t believe Hux can somehow use this information for evil purposes but he never shows interest in anything that doesn’t involve him.

“No reason. Temporary insanity brought on by extreme boredom. I don’t actually care to hear the answer,” Hux says petulantly.

As they walk toward the mountain, he stares at the landscape ahead; the terrain isn’t flat but uneven. It rises and falls. Its promises of an easy progress disappearing with every curve and descend. “I wouldn’t want to go to just one place. I would want to keep moving,” Poe says.

He picks up the pace and turns left. He assumes Hux is following.

After another twenty minutes, they finally reach their destination. The mountain is claustrophobically imposing, crowding in on them: different from what Poe expected.

“It’s a giant rock,” Hux says, clearly unimpressed with everything that wasn't built by human being. Bonus points if they built it for warfare.

“No, hang on,” Poe says and motions Hux closer. “There’s a door.” It also has encryptions.

“A dragon? There’s a dragon down there?” Hux says, reading over his shoulder.

“It’s what it says. Come on.”

“I bet only a brave, daring Jedi Knight can slay it.” Hux’s sarcasm comes through perfectly even though he’s still outside and his voice sounds distant. He sounds farther away than he actually is when Poe turns toward the entrance and pulls him inside.

The inside is dark, but the air isn’t heavy or muggy. They illuminate their surroundings with their glowrods but can’t see much besides the dusty orange walls, identical to the outside of the rock.

There’s an old, rusty lift that grinds when they step on it as they begin their descent. The ominous creaky sounds accompanying them all the way down.

“This was probably just a mining facility. Nothing mystical about it,” Hux says next to him.

“Are you scared of a dragon? Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not worried. I’m very much looking forward to dying here,” he says as the lift stops, starts, and rapidly descends. Free falling.

There are more inscriptions on the walls when they reach the ground level. It’s a story, Poe realizes as they make their way farther inside. Scribbled on the walls with gold tint is a tale of a prince who got weighed down by rocks, got lost in a wreckage, waiting to be rescued. Engrossing but pretty bleak stuff.

When he turns around, Hux isn’t there.

He walks back the same way they came from, but the place is a bit of a maze. He turns right and finds Hux pointing a blaster at him.

 _Fuck_. He should have known better than to let Hux have a weapon. This was even specified on the terms of his pardon. Poe just didn’t think Hux would be stupid enough to use it against him. In any case, Hux can probably fashion a weapon from a feather, so being shot is the less painful option.

“Don’t move,” Hux says.

“Wait,” Poe says and proceeds to ignore him and move closer. “I didn’t hear a ‘please’ in there.” He senses _something_ surround him, the feeling of being trapped, of being watched, of being _hunted_. It’s just Hux, though. He can take him.

Hux lets out an annoyed breath. “Dameron,” he says and grabs his shirt, pulls Poe closer until they’re tumbling to the ground and Hux is shooting, not at Poe but at something _behind him._

Poe rolls over and sits up, watches as Hux stands and brushes his hands over his pants. There’s a giant bird-like creature with glowing antennae flying in the opposite direction now.

“That didn’t look like a dragon to me,” Hux says.

Poe blinks. “Yeah, and who needs a Jedi Knight, right?”

Post-war life must be making Poe too complacent and slow because when he turns he realizes Hux is too far away to have heard him.

Once they’re walking back toward the outpost, he says, “there was an opportunity there for you to let that beast feed on me while you made a run for it.”

“It would’ve been faster than me.” A pause. “Would I stand to inherit anything if you die?”

That’s not what Poe meant when he said Hux could’ve made a run for it, but instead, he plays along. “I knew you only wanted me for my credits.”

Setting course to their next destination, Poe turns to his right on the pilot seat and says, “we’re going to Wish.”

Hux frowns. “We’re going to wish what?”

“We’re going to Wish.”

Hux huffs out an annoyed breath. “What kind of childish game is this?”

Poe grins. “We’re going to Wish, the capital of Ephemera. There’s a wealthy merchant who owns a chain of hotels and restaurants who may or may not be hosting former First Order higher-ups for business dinners. We need a list of all the guests that have stayed and dined there in the past month. We’ll double-check it against our database of known First Order operatives and their aliases. That’s it.” It’s pretty simple but, as always, there could be danger, the promise of fun. Like dipping back into an old habit.

“They won’t just hand it over. Am I to assume we’ll blast our way in?” There’s a note of excitement when he says it. Poe knew the risks of handing him a blaster, but Hux had agreed he wouldn’t kill anyone unless it was necessary. Poe realizes now that their definitions might differ.

“Not exactly. We’ll— well, we’re going undercover. Sort of. We’ll pretend we’re honeymooners. How hard can it be?”

They arrive on Wish in the late afternoon, the sun starting to disappear from the sky and leaving behind a low golden light to cover the outside. They register and only play up the newlyweds act a little. Hux stands closer than normal and doesn’t flinch back when Poe leans into his space.

That night they spend a long time walking around the dining area and then the grounds of the luxurious resort. _Ugh, nature indoors_ , says Hux as they walk through the gardens; the air is nice, clean, and pure. The flowers surrounding them seemingly glowing under the moonlit night.

They split up after an hour; Poe goes to check the exits and holocameras near the offices, past the rec rooms, and leaves Hux to study the guards’ rotation by the pool.

Once Poe feels confident he knows the layout of the offices, he goes to find Hux. He’s sitting in front of the pool, staring at his reflection on the crystalline water. It’s dark outside but the moon is brightly lit, giving their surroundings an eerie electric blue tint.

Poe sits down next to him, their arms almost brushing, and says, “we need to go break into the main office now.”

The back of their hands brush and Poe tangles their fingers together as he pulls Hux up and inside.

Poe looks up when Hux enters the office while he’s waiting for the datafiles to finish downloading. The place is completely bathed in darkness except for the light coming from the computer terminal in the left corner of the room.

“What are you doing here? Go back out there and keep watch,” he hisses when Hux walks in.

“Someone’s coming. I didn’t think you would appreciate me blasting them and decorating the pristine white floor with dead bodies. Grab the datarod and let’s go.”

“For the record, a lot of what you just said is massively fucked up. And we can’t, it’s only halfway done. Let’s be quiet. They might not come here.”

Hux moves closer, presumably to see how much data has been processed, and bumps into a shelf. The sound is deafening in the darkness.

“Fuck,” they say simultaneously.

They hear the steps move toward the office, followed by the faint light of a glowrod coming through the small opening at the bottom of the door.

“Come here,” Poe whispers and pulls on his arm until Hux is in front of the terminal. “I’m really sorry.” He pushes Hux back against the controls and steps between his legs, his hands tightening on Hux’s hips.

Their lips connect as the door opens and the lights come on. A security guard tells them, “excuse me. Sirs, this is a restricted area.”

Poe pulls away and looks at Hux. His lips are red and spit-shiny, he notes. _I did that_ , pops into his brain. He’s too slow to stop the thought from materializing.

“Sorry, my husband got a little carried away and couldn’t wait to get to our room.” He smiles before biting his lip and carding his fingers through his hair. “We’ll leave,” he says and pulls on Hux’s arm.

“Did you get the datarod?” Poe asks as they walk through the long white corridor leading to their room.

Hux stays quiet for a long moment before saying, “yes, I got it.”

“Teamwork,” Poe says and grins.

On Bilovcer, he loses Hux. Well, temporarily misplaces him. He is very, very briefly unaware of his location. For only twenty minutes or so.

The place is a complete wasteland, with not one single structure standing in one piece. He finds Hux sitting in an abandoned temple; scribbles and large, claw-like scratches littering its grey walls. Hux is on the duracreet floor, his hands cuffed behind his back. He looks mostly bored. “You’re here.” The _at last_ goes unvoiced, but Poe still picks up on it.

“Of course I am. Only the best for you,” Poe says, grinning. He’s relieved, in a particular way that feels almost inexplicable. He reasons that it’s because it was his responsibility to keep Hux safe, he was supposed to be with him and he _lost him._

“You came alone? This could have been a trap. Then we would both be dead,” he says glaring at Poe as he usually does.

Well, he knew better than to expect gratitude. “Right. You’re welcome. I’ll make sure _not_ to come next time you get kidnapped. Are you hurt anywhere?” Poe asks before yanking him by the elbow when Hux says no. He turns him around against the wall and uncuffs him, before touching his wrist slowly, feeling his pulse alive and beating. “You okay, then?” he asks quietly.

Hux is staring at his wrist in Poe’s hand intently and swallows before answering. “I’m alright, yes.”

Poe has this weird urge to card his fingers through Hux’s hair or touch his cheek or something equally ridiculous, so he steps away instead. “Let’s go.”

“Did you catch them? What did they want with me?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love this.”

“They wanted _what?_ “ Hux says, looking genuinely horrified.

They’re back on the ship and since their mission found _them_ instead of the other way around, they can cut their stay short. There’s an annual festival taking place in the next town over but there’s no reason to prolong their stay now.

“They wanted to bring back Kylo Ren. Apparently they missed the memo that he turned to the light side before dying. I don’t know.” Poe asked them to repeat themselves twice. It still doesn’t make sense to him.

“Why would they use _me_ for that?”

“Because they couldn’t find Rey? Maybe they thought he would come back to life just to spite you? I don’t know. All I know is that they wanted to Palpatine him back to life.”

“What a sad, desperate, and pathetic bunch. It wasn’t even about me,” Hux says, sounding offended. “I was hoping that they were looking for revenge for my accomplishments.”

“Accomplishments?”

“I meant crimes,” Hux says, unconcerned, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture.

They go to the festival that night because they might as well. Every house has been turned into some sort of museum or tourist trap. The set up is colorful and loud and vibrant.

There are gigantic statues on each side of the streets towering over everyone, dubiously accurate historical reenactments, and children running around dressed as padawans.

The main attraction is the long row of markets on the left side of the streets selling everything from food to Imperial memorabilia. It’s there that he finds Hux.

Hux places his hand in his pocket and hides whatever it was that he just bought from this place. They _probably_ don’t sell weapons here. Probably.

“What did you get?” Poe still asks.

“Nothing.” He walks out back onto the street and says, “I hope I don’t live to see the Kylo Ren version of this.”

Poe turns and sees the wall displaying Vader masks. Yeah, can’t say he disagrees.

In the center of the town is a small, dome-like museum celebrating the town’s cultural traditions. There is a gift shop and around it various murals depicting historical events.

They are big believers in bonding through sharing, which is exactly what says in big, elaborate, red letters in front of a small restaurant they enter.

At least what Poe initially assumes is a restaurant.

As the host explains it, their marriage ritual consists of two or more people sharing the same eating utensil.

Poe takes a step back and then another one for good measure, lest they decide to expand their definition to include any kind of physical proximity. Marrying Hux once was more than enough.

Hux seems to have the same idea as he snaps, “no, thank you,” before rushing out.

Poe didn’t realize how close together they were walking but as they head back to the ship, he notices that at least two people can fit in the space between them.

Their ship is small, so whatever physical distance exists between them now will soon disappear.

Just because he was willing to let it go at the market, doesn’t mean he’s willing to do so indefinitely.

In their sleeping pod, Poe says, “what did you buy back there?”

“Verisimilitude.”

He can’t see Hux, can only feel his warmth where he rests next to him, hear his voice when he talks into the darkness surrounding them. He turns on his side even though it brings them slightly closer. “How do you buy that?”

“It was a wedding ring.”

“Oh, that’s weird,” he says. “Buying a wedding ring for yourself, that is.” Poe feels Hux tense and belatedly realizes how that sounded. “Can I see it?”

“Why? Do you think I’m lying?”

“No, I just wanted to see it.”

Hux sighs loudly, way too loud considering it’s only the two of them in a dark, quiet, and small space.

Poe hears him move, feels the mattress shift, and then there’s a hand on his arm, warm. It moves to his chest and its open palm presses against his skin. He reaches out and Hux withdraws his touch, leaving the ring behind.

In the darkness, Poe can’t properly examine it. It’s smooth and cold to the touch. He thinks it’s black and imagines its shiny surface, glimmering against his finger when he puts it on. It feels heavy. “What’s special about it?”

“Nothing.” After a moment, he adds, “it’s made from quadanium, the same metal used to build the hull in the first and second Death Star. From a historical perspective, it’s interesting. That’s all.”

“Oh, that’s—” he starts, but doesn’t know how to finish the thought. It’s something.

“Give it back,” Hux says, sounding petulant.

Poe ignores him. “My mom’s ring is actually a piece of Rebel tech. It’s a washer.” It would be _something_ if they exchanged rings.

 _Dameron, you’re smarter than this_ , Poe thinks but doesn’t manage to convince himself.

“It’s been a month,” Hux says in Thiem, two days before they go back home.

They’re leaving a First Order processing station. It’s a complete ghost town, which Poe supposes is better than the alternative but he would’ve felt more at ease if people had been shooting at him. Wandering hall after empty hall was eery and he felt like a scav picking apart at a wreckage as he downloaded the data from a terminal, no matter how much the station was standing in one piece.

“A month since what?”

Hux blinks, clenches his jaw, and looks away. “Since the war ended.”

“Oh.” That means it’s also their one month anniversary. “We should go celebrate.”

The cantina they end up drinking at is not the classiest, but the drinks are cheap and surfaces are relatively clean. There’s a song softly coming from the speakers, too low to disrupt the conversation or make out some of the words.

Poe eyes the glowy orange liquid in front of him and takes a drink from it. It’s bitter and oily. He puts the glass down and looks up in time to see Hux grab his drink and throw it back in one go. Poe catches the way he throws his head back and the throat-flexing swallow that accompanies the motion.

He makes a face before putting the glass down and points to Poe’s drink. “Are you drinking that?”

“No, go ahead.” Poe makes sure to look away this time.

Nothing good comes out of drinking with Hux, but he’s determined to break the pattern.

The cantina is not too far from their ship, so they walk back in relative silence, letting the cold air of the night hit their faces and sober them up.

“Do you wonder how different things would be if we hadn’t gotten married?” Poe asks.

“No. Do you mean better? Would you have kept your word?”

“Yeah, I told you. That had nothing to do with this. But maybe, you would’ve, I don’t know, disappeared. In between all the — everything, I would’ve lost track of you.”

“You think I wouldn’t have provided intel for you.”

“No, you had your own reasons to do that.” Honestly, Poe doesn’t know what he’s getting at. That it would be a shame if they missed out on this nice, moonlit stroll on their one month wedding anniversary? He’s drunker than he thought. “Once we go back home, this part’s over,” he says instead.

Hux sighs, his exasperation barely restrained. “What’s over?”

“Chasing the First Order’s remnants across the galaxy.”

“You should consider that a good thing, but don’t worry, I’m sure a lot of them are in hiding and just waiting a couple of decades to regroup. It won’t be the First Order and it won’t be our fight either.”

“Well, I feel infinitely better now. Thanks for those cheerful thoughts.” He turns to look at Hux. “That’s what I love about you, man. You’re all about the silver lining.” It takes him a solid minute to realize Hux isn’t following and when he looks back, Hux is just standing there frowning. “Are you okay? You’re gonna freeze out here.” Already Hux’s face is red and blotchy.

The day before they go back home the environmental controls on the ship temporarily go offline. Even after fixing them, it will take them eight hours to reboot. It means the ship is freezing cold.

They’ve been sharing the ship’s single sleeping pod and since they’ve also been sharing a bed back home, it’s nothing new. Some cuddling (naturally) tends to occur but it’s different when they’re both awake for it.

He shifts, or maybe Hux shifts, and then they shift together. Hux lets out a groan against the sensitive skin of Poe’s throat and Poe moves his hands to his hips and ruts against his thigh. Hux pushes him back against the mattress and straddles him, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, but Poe isn’t doing much better, impatiently pulling Hux down to meet the thrusts of his hips.

Hux supports himself shakily on his arms, not resting against him. It’s too dark for Poe to properly see anything, to do anything but guide himself by touch. He registers that as a real shame at the same time he realizes he hasn’t been against doing this for quite some time.

Poe moves a hand to Hux’s thigh, digs his fingers in, and hears Hux’s breath hitch. He can feel Hux moving closer and when he lifts his head, his lips brush against Poe’s jaw.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time and while Poe is still catching his breath, Hux asks, “do you think this counts as consummating our marriage?”

Good question. Poe doesn’t see why frantic dryhumping _wouldn’t_ count but he’s not a jurist, so he just closes his eyes and goes to sleep with Hux draped all over him.

The next day they don’t talk about it, but there’s nothing to talk about. Having sex with the person you’ve been married to for a little over a month is a non-event, really.

As they make their way back home, Poe has a moment to regret that he won’t be able to immediately implement whatever seemingly great idea he randomly gets anymore. The downside of being in charge.

Unsurprisingly, First Order clean up turns out to be the easy part. After that’s dealt with (for _now_ , says a voice in his head that sounds exactly like Hux), Poe gets to play diplomat, shake a lot of hands, and attempt to talk a lot of people into signing treaties. It is the worst.

Hux listens to him complain, offers unhelpful advice and, on more than one occasion, murderous solutions. It’s not great but venting makes Poe feel better, at least.

“Does that mean staying in this horrid place for six months?” Hux asks from their bed.

“No, it means that if we file for divorce _now_ it’ll be finalized in six months.”

His expression is bored and his tone flat when he says, “I would like to take care of it.” A pause. “Since you probably don’t have patience for the bureaucratic aspects of it.”

“Sure, knock yourself out.” Poe doesn’t want to discuss his marriage with anyone ever again if he can help it. The _well, if you trust him in your bed_ teasing comment he had to endure while pulling strings to get Hux pardoned up was more than enough.

“It’s not like i have anything better to do now,” he says, like an accusation. One inexplicably directed at Poe.

“What would you like to be doing?”

“Making plans to relocate.”

“I know, I know, you hate it here.” Poe sighs. “You can go if you want.”

Hux is free, which means free to choose, and free to leave. Moreover, Poe is only now realizing that this fake real marriage scheme was a bad idea all along. One that masquerades as good and even exciting but in the cold light of day, when reality comes crashing down, reveals itself to be have been ill-conceived at best. He doesn’t regret it — nothing was irreplaceably damaged, after all. He just can’t indulge in that kind of behavior anymore.

“I see,” Hux says, his words coming out clipped and annoyed.

Poe rewinds what he said, trying to figure how he offended him. Hux always twists his words into insults. “If you want to. I’m happy to have you around, though.”

Hux looks at him for a long time, the same unknown emotion that crossed his features when he handed Poe the flimsi envelope reappears. Resolve. “Staying here isn’t precisely good for you either. You can do better.”

Poe laughs so he doesn’t have to analyze Hux’s words. “You’ll say anything to disparage this place.”

“It is true that almost everyone can do better. However, I meant that this isn’t wartime anymore, where any rough-and-ready, slapdash effort counted,” Hux explains in that self-important, pretend-patient way he has of saying things. “The best way to achieve your goals is by not hiding out in a kriffing jungle moon like an outlaw. You’re only staying here because you’re afraid you’re not good enough to play politician.”

Poe clenches his jaw and looks away. “Thanks for the inspiring pep talk. You really have a way with people.” He moves toward the door, wanting to stop himself before he says something genuinely meant to offend Hux, not just merely rile him up.

“I’m saying the galaxy could do worse than you. Don’t take it as a compliment, though. The galaxy has, very recently, done worse.”

Poe turns to him and doesn’t encounter the sneer he was expecting; the one he is very familiar with. He moves closer until he can sit down next to Hux. He doesn’t want to play politician, he wants Leia to be here and do it. “Okay, yeah, it’s time to move out of here. I’m not agreeing to please you, though. I’m doing it because you’re right.”

“That’s fine. I’ll settle for being pleased that you admit I’m right.”

He drops by Suralinda’s quarters the day before she and Jess plan to leave. The room is mostly empty because they’ve been living at Jess’s _slightly_ bigger quarters. There aren’t a lot of quarters suitable for couples. Hux complains but, as usual, he doesn’t know how good he has it.

She’s packing some power packs when she ushers him inside. “I should’ve done this sooner,” she says.

“Want some help?” he offers reluctantly. He’s happy in the knowledge that when he and Hux move, Hux will take care of packing because he’s too neurotic not to.

She hands him a crate and points him to a corner of the room where he can see a pile of datasheets, datatapes, macrobinoculars, and several sunshades on top of a desk. He maneuvers past the bed (covered with several items of clothes, including the dress Poe remembers her wearing for their mission in Coronet City.) and says, “so how’s the story coming along?”

“Oh, it’s great. Do you and your husband want to add a few quotes before we leave?” she says, maybe only half-joking.

“No, look, I actually wanted to talk to you about that. I don’t want you to include our story, okay? Not everything is a story.”

She sighs. “That night we got married there were a lot of people wanting to do the same, you know? They had a lot of different reasons to do it too. Love, some were doing it on a dare, some just wanted a big party, a lot of them were last-minute, impulsive decisions. Maybe those unions won’t last, but that’s not the point. The point is that everyone wanted a happy anecdote to accompany the day.” She sits heavily on the bed, on top of the clothing there, and looks at him. “I collected their stories, not because I think that what I write will have the power to build a better government or give people back their homeplanets or bring back the people we lost. I did it because it’s what I love doing. The same way I am with Jess because it’s what and who I love. And I think there is some value in putting these stories out there. Including your secret and surprising starcrossed love story, but I won’t push.”

Poe swallows, feeling hollowed out by her words. He chooses to focus on the least important thing she said. “Secret and surprising?”

“Yep, I’m usually better at knowing when people are into each other. You had me fooled,” she says in a way that tells him he really didn’t.

“I didn’t marry him to redeem him if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Side effect,” she says with a shrug. “I know what it’s like to be in a Resistance base among people who don’t trust you because of the bad things you did in the past. I get wanting to prove and improve yourself.”

“He would kill — _someone_. Me, maybe, if he heard you talking about him like that.”

She rolls her eyes and moves back to the other side of the room. “The redemptive power of love. Two generals on opposite sides of a galactic conflict find love and comfort in—”

“Okay, I get it. Is it a romance novel that you’re writing now?”

“Why? You think there’s an audience for that?”

“I don’t know. Does it have a happy ending?” Poe asks.

She looks at him carefully for a moment before grinning. “We’ll see.”

“Are you getting drunk?” Poe asks Hux when he enters their room.

Hux is sitting on the floor and is at least a little tipsy. “No, I am merely having a drink by myself. Do you wish to join me? I doubt we’ll find ourselves married for a second time.”

Poe shrugs and joins him on the floor, his back resting against the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him. He miscalculates the distance and their thighs end up brushing. “Where did you even get this?” he says, grabbing the bottle.

Hux doesn’t have any glasses and is drinking straight from the bottle. It gives Poe pause. Maybe he’s having some sort of breakdown. “I found it on the _Millennium Falcon_.”

“You stole it? What were you doing there?”

His profile is only dimly illuminated by the faint light from the moon outside, the darkness making his words sound intimate. “Your friend, Rey, wanted another opinion. An expert opinion on how to fix that barely-held-together deathtrap. It required a lot of creativity. I took it as payment.”

Rey can handle him, can tolerate him which is a bigger feat, so he’s not bothered by them spending time together. More importantly, she knows the truth about their marriage so Poe doesn’t have to worry about some new and weird rumor popping up overnight.

They drink in silence for a few minutes, passing the bottle back forth with no comment from Hux about how gross it is to drink from it after Poe put his mouth on it. It would be pretty silly, considering, but it would also be on-brand for Hux.

“It could always be worse, I suppose,” Hux says, out of nowhere. He sounds maudlin, which Poe doesn’t know how to handle. It makes him want to drink more so he can catch up. “I could have married someone worse.”

Poe laughs. It’s not the kind of joyous laughter he shares with his friends but it’s loud in the small, quiet place they’ve temporarily built for themselves. Like a disturbance of this fragile sense of peace. “High praise,” he says. But the almost heartfelt way Hux says it — not emotional but matter-of-fact and full of conviction — feels meaningful somehow. “Did you ever— what were marriages in the First Order like?”

Hux rests the back of his head against the edge of the mattress, staring firmly at the dark ceiling. “I presume they worked similarly to everywhere else. People bound together until said arrangement stopped benefitting one or both parties.”

“You’re a real romantic, you know that?”

“They consisted of fairly long engagements, actually. There was a lot of datawork involved in the process. You would have hated it. It was very bureaucratic.”

Poe smiles, feeling weirdly pleased that they know each other in this, the smallest way possible. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you the bureaucratic wedding of your dreams.”

Hux makes a low humming noise. Maybe sad for the wedding that wasn’t. “At the end, both individuals signed a form and that was it. They didn’t even have to sign it simultaneously. It was clean and organized. No tedious, emotional negotiations necessary.”

“I’m sure the love they had for each other still came through,” Poe says sarcastically.

Hux closes his eyes and exhales. “A lot of them were political alliances, which is still better and more advantageous than accidentally marrying someone you hate.”

“I don’t hate you,” he says and then pauses, processing Hux’s words, analyzing what he really meant. His Hux to Basic translator is finally back online. “Oh, wait, you meant for yourself. You meant you would have preferred a political marriage.”

“No, this is fine.” Hux pauses. “Do you remember anything about that night?” he asks, turning so his gaze lands intense and measuring.

Poe swallows and looks away. “Sort of.”

The bar was dark, only a warm golden glow reaching the smooth surface of the counter Poe was resting his elbows on. “You can take the general out of the war but not the war out of the general,” Poe said sagely, nodding his head.

“What? What does that even mean?” Hux asked, sitting on the stool next to him.

Poe turned to look at him. He was leaning heavily against the counter, resting his head on top of his folded arms, his face turned to his left, in Poe’s direction. “What would you have done if your side had won?”

“You mean the Sith maniacs masquerading as the organization I devoted my whole life to?”

“Your life _so far_ ,” Poe felt the need to point out. He was so dramatic. “And I meant in a galaxy where you got to name yourself Supreme Leader or Emperor. I don’t know.”

He raised his head and turned to look at the screen in front of them, the one with the scrolling drinks menu. It had made Poe too dizzy to stare at it, but Hux didn’t seem to have that problem. He kept staring at it fixedly. “Well, I wouldn’t have gotten married.”

Poe laughed. “You would’ve been the most eligible bachelor. Everyone would’ve been lining up to have you talk dirty to them about your war crimes.” Poe reached for his glass but found it empty, so he settled for dragging it against the counter from one side to another.

Hux intercepted his hand and covered it with his own, stopping his movements. “You’re deeply disturbed. And what I meant was that considering my ambitions it was important to hold myself above such trivial matters and not allow my focus to be diverted.”

“What trivial matters?”

“Relationships.”

“All kinds?” Poe said, slightly leaning into his space.

Hux didn’t let go of his hand, but when he shifted on his seat, their knees brushed together.

They’ve finished most of the bottle and Hux is rambling about something. Something about his brain feeling lonely without speeches? Poe can’t really follow. He can see the words coming out of his mouth, his lips shaping them, but the more he focuses on that the less sense everything else makes.

Hux sighs. “You’re not paying attention to me.”

Poe shrugs. “You don’t pay attention to me when I talk either.”

“That’s untrue. I pay attention and try to influence your views on important matters.”

“That’s even worse. I don’t want you scheming.”

“How do you want me?” Hux says and his words feel like an escalation Poe wasn’t prepared for.

Poe is good at improvising and thinking on his feet, though. He tilts his head a little and glances at Hux’s lips. The move works on him as it has on every other person Poe has ever tried it. Hux leans forward and—

Poe rears back. “I’m gonna be sick,” he says, moving toward the refresher.

After emptying the contents of his stomach, Poe feels better. Well not better, just less likely to do something stupid. He spends a good five minutes leaning his forehead against the cool surface of the refresher mirror, but it’s not good for his mental wellbeing to keep replaying the words _how do you want me?_ on a loop.

The room is completely dark when he comes out, only the faint light coming from the moon outside filtering in. Hux is in bed with his back turned to him and Poe hesitates for a second.

When he gets next to him on the bed, Poe turns on his side. He keeps a respectable distance between their bodies and stares at him: the curve of his shoulder, his uncombed hair against the pillow, the tense line of his back.

He rolls over and stares at the ceiling instead. He imagines he can look through it and see the stars, but his imagination isn’t that good, so he just closes his eyes.

Being in charge and being grounded are two concepts that have a tendency to overlap. There is no shortage of places to go and missions to take, but there are other people around to do that job and not enough people who can do Poe’s. Still, it’s what he’s actually good at and he misses it.

He volunteers to go on a supply run to Zandris where the refugees from Kijimi are currently being relocated.

Things with Hux have been weird — and it’s unfortunately not all Hux’s doing — so he’s happy to get away for a few hours.

He visits the settlement, delivers the supplies, talks to Zorii about all the work still left to do to give these people a real home, and even endures some light mocking about his questionable romantic choices. He leaves feeling lighter, better about the trip back home. He should’ve known that was the first sign something would go wrong.

Poe groans when he is greeted by what are now the familiar surroundings of a cell. Minimum decor? Check. Furniture bolted to the ground? Check. Locked exits? Check. Restraints he didn’t consent to? Check and check.

He’s not in pain, he’s mostly frustrated and annoyed that he’s going to be validating the people on base who have taken to refer to him as ‘their pilot in distress.’ It was funny maybe the first fifty times.

He tries to move but his hands and feet are tied to the chair he’s in, of course. He looks around the room but the bright light above him makes his head throb. He briefly closes his eyes and waits. He always gets out of these situations.

His kidnappers stop by what could be minutes or hours later. Probably minutes, but if time were measured by boredom then it would be years. They don’t say anything to him, just stare intently behind their hooded green robes.

It gets old after five minutes, which shows real patience on Poe’s part. “So, do you have any questions for me? Are you trying to stare the answers out of me? I’m all for meaningful eye contact but it feels a little one-sided when I can only see half your faces.”

“Apologies,” says the man in front of him. He doesn’t move closer so his features are all hidden behind his elaborate robes.

Poe waits for a beat but nothing else seems forthcoming. “Apology not accepted,” he says. “I would reconsider if you let me go, though. Really, I’m a forgive and forget kind of guy.”

“That won’t be possible and we do apologize for the inconvenience but we must offer the First Order a sign of goodwill after the horrible business with the—”

“Wait.” Maybe they’re trying to use confusion as a form of torture, Poe thinks. “The First Order? Do you guys not get the holonews out here?”

“Since the First Order arrived they created a blockade to cut off communications. Holonet access and long-range transmissions have been restricted too.”

“Well, you have a lot to catch up on. Good thing we have nothing but time, right?” Poe says grinning.

Poe drags the story for so long that he runs out of things to embellish and describe. They were weirdly fascinated with all the clothing descriptions Poe used to set the scene, but he nearly lost them when he started describing in great detail all the food on the Festival of the Ancestors in Pasaana. He’s stalling because they will soon realize they have no use for him as a hostage at all.

“So we were in the _Falcon_ and there was only one—” he’s saying as they hear a noise outside.

His captors glance toward each other and leave the room, leaving only one person behind to watch Poe.

“Hey, do you think—?” he stars before the door bursts open and Hux walks inside pointing a blaster to his guard and firing before Poe can finish saying, “no, don’t sho—”

“It was set to stun,” he says with a shrug. “I figured you would want a rescue but would want it with a minimum amount of bloodshed.” The way he says it makes it very clear that finds such notion to be not only unreasonable but possibly specifically designed to inconvenience him.

“You came for me.”

Hux ignores him, going through the guard’s pockets looking for something. He moves away when he finds a key and stands in front of Poe before easily going to his knees and unlocking the cuffs around his ankles. “No, I just decided to accompany your Jedi friends on their rescue mission,” he says, looking up at Poe from his position on the floor.

Poe quickly looks away. “Are Finn and Rey out there?”

“Yes, I had to ask for their help when I realized you were gone,” he says accusingly.

“How did you—?” Poe asks, rubbing his wrists once they are released.

“You didn’t pick up your droid from the mechanic so they comm’d me. His other legal owner.” He pauses. “At first, I figured you were — busy, but I don’t think you would neglect your droid for a tryst.”

Poe frowns. “Wait, for a—? Never mind. My head hurts. Let’s have this conversation later.” Or never would work too.

“Are you injured?” Hux asks softly.

At that moment Poe feels the same powerful undercurrent of gratitude and sentiment that he does every time someone saves his life. He can’t help it. He turns to look at Hux and when their eyes meet he feels as if they’re in a bubble, suspended in time and space. “No,” he says, and hears it come out as a whisper.

Hux swallows, his fingers flexing at his side before he shakes his head. “Why aren’t you walking, then?”

When they leave the building where his captors were keeping him, Poe is greeted by the harsh, unbearable cold of the ice moon they are in. It wraps itself around him and settles in his bones.

Staring at the blueish white, snowy landscape, he says, “you would have taken care of Beebee, right?”

Hux turns to look at him. His face is flushed from the cold and his breath is visible in the space between them. “What? Are you trying to shrink your responsibilities right now?”

“No. I meant if something had happened to me.”

“No, your droid hates me. Neither of us would have been happy with that arrangement.” His words are harsh but the blue sun that sets above them softens something in him. His gaze lingers on Poe and he opens his mouth a couple of times before clenching his jaw and looking away.

“Can you blame him? It’s all that reprogramming talk, Hux.”

“Well, he needs to stop meddling in people’s affairs.”

He sighs. One of them needs to stop being a coward. Poe, mainly. “What I was trying to say was that I’m glad you noticed I was gone, even if it was only because you were inconvenienced by having to go pick Beebee up.”

“It was fine. I am technically his legal owner. Maybe that’s the kind of legislation you’ll want to modify once you establish a new legal system,” Hux says, staring at the long ice pillars ahead.

Poe looks ahead. He thinks can make the faint outline of the _Falcon_ in the distance. “Well, we can’t change anything for now, so we have to—”

“I would take care of Beebee and I wouldn’t reprogram him. He would be happier with Rey, though, so you shouldn’t leave him to me.”

He turns to Hux, focuses on his profile. “Okay. Is there anything you would want? Anything — mine.” The words feel weird leaving his mouth even though he meant them as a joke. _Anything you want from me?_ is what he should’ve said.

Hux looks at him and swallows. “May I have your jacket?”

Poe laughs. “Sure. It’ll look good with the tired and wired look you rock so well.”

He scoffs. “I meant now, Poe. I’m freezing.”

He helps Hux zip up the jacket, his fingers cold as they brush the hollow of his throat. When Poe looks up, snowflakes are clinging to his hair and eyelashes, brushing his lips. He waits him out, willing Hux to move closer. As Hux bridges the distance between them, Poe can feel nothing but the warmth of his mouth.

Poe’s always wanted to go fast. To rush into things and sometimes take shortcuts to get there faster. Maybe marriage isn’t that much different, he thinks.

In the _Falcon_ , Hux tells him, “I never started divorce procedures.”

Poe looks at him and grins. “I know.”

A few weeks later, Poe wakes up to an insistent beeping sound coming from the floor. He opens his eyes and squints against the bright sun coming from the window. The room is cold, only starting to warm up as the first rays of sunlight reach their bed and their bodies, where they are entwined under the sheets.

He searches for his datapad and clicks on the message he just got from Suralinda. _My masterpiece_ , it reads.

###### Let It Fall: Love in a Post War Galaxy by Suralinda Javos

All is fair in love, post-war.

Hux moves his hand under his shirt and Poe puts the datapad down. He’ll read it later.


End file.
